


she looks so perfect standing there...

by jamespadfoot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Daddy!Killian, F/M, Swan-Jones Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4046359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamespadfoot/pseuds/jamespadfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She’s beautiful, he thinks, irritated at the way the light catches her hair and shines like a bloody halo. She’s got a bit of a smirk as she teases Regina in whatever conversation they’re having, completely distracting him from his task, and why the bloody hell does she have to be so beautiful." </p><p>A look at the Captain Swan in the near future - some daddy!Killian, and family fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she looks so perfect standing there...

_She’s beautiful,_ he thinks, irritated at the way the light catches her hair and shines like a bloody halo. She’s got a bit of a smirk as she teases Regina in whatever conversation they’re having, completely distracting him from his task, and  _why the bloody hell does she have to be so beautiful._

He’s never met anyone who has entranced him so powerfully as she has, and even though she is in fact a sorceress, he knows she’s done nothing but be her wonderful, fierce, loyal,  _abso-bloody-beautiful_ self and he really needs to focus on his task because it is important, so very important, but how can he when his eyes betray him every few minutes to glance upon her radiant face?

He loves her, them, but by all the realms does he need to get his head fixed straight. And he manages to do so, for a whole two minutes, before he feels her presence sidling up to him.

“What’s up, sourpuss?” she grins at him, one hand palming his cheeks as she pulls his face from its frown.

“You, Mrs. Jones, are far too beautiful,” he accuses, “and you’re ruining my concentration.”

She rolls his eyes at him even as her lips stretch into a smile, making his own lips follow against his wishes, because he’s been reading the same page for the past 5 minutes and  _god, does he love her_.

She settles closer, resting her forehead against his as her thumb smoothens the creases by his eyes. 

Her head and eyes dip, looking down, and she must catch the words on the page because she pulls back in surprise, eyes wide and voice tinged with laughter as she asks, 

“Killian, why are you reading about ‘how to tie a french braid’?” 

He sighs, moving the book to the table as he pulls her into his embrace, resting hand and hook carefully on her protruding belly. 

“Because a father should know these things, Emma,” he says, the inadequacy he feels at the task to come swallowing him. 

“Oh Killian,” she says, eyes and tone soft, so loving and adoring as she shifts slightly to be closer in his embrace, “it will be a while before she’s old enough to have her hair braided.”

“I know,” he answers, pressing a kiss to her temple as he speaks closer to her ear, not wanting to be overheard by the guests in their home, “but I don’t imagine it’s easy braiding hair with only one hand. I will need time to adjust.” 

She pulls away so she can see study his face properly, and he's sure she can see the ineptitude and unhappiness that he feels swirl through him, battling with the euphoria of being his own parent (he loves the lad, he does, but Henry’s a grown man with more parents than he could possibly want in his young adult years) and there's also the mind-numbing fear that this baby is a little girl, and he doesn’t know how one of those works. Only knows he’ll protect her and teach her to protect herself for all his living days, and in his death if he can. 

“You can practice with me,” is what Emma says, sliding off his lap with a quick kiss to his lips. There is no pity or empty reassurances, just her tackling the problem like they've done for the past four years. Together.

She offers her long blonde locks to him, and he hunches forward, taking the lot in his hand and hook as he tries to recall the first step. 

"First, you've got to comb through it, untangle any knots," she says, flourishing her hand to magic her hairbrush. He runs it through her hair gently, fingers and hook sliding easily through the silky flaxen hair.

"Roland wants pancakes for dinner," Regina says, walking into their living room without a care, "and of course, Henry does too," she says with a roll of her eyes, shaking her head when Emma laughs, "so we're heading out. You two want Henry to bring anything on the way back?"

"Isn't the lad staying at your place tonight?" 

Regina raises her gaze to his, shaking her head in negative. "No, he said he's on a roll with that new game, Left For Death? Or whatever it's called, and wants to keep his level." 

"Left for  _Dead_ ," Killian corrects smugly, always happy to rub his ever-expanding knowledge of the realm into anyone who will listen.  _Especially_ Regina. 

She gives him a sour look, a petulant "Whatever," leaving her lips as their son bounds down the stairs as if belonging to a herd of elephants. 

"Waffles! I want waffles," Emma says, and then, after rubbing her belly, "with a side of pickles and ranch sauce!" 

Regina, Henry and Killian let out simultaneous groans, from ranging expressions of exasperation, disgust and amusement, respectively. 

"This kid is going to be so _weird_ ," Henry complains, even as he repeats her order under his breath. 

"Like you were any better, you made me crave peanut butter in  _everything._ I remember eating peanut butter in chicken gravy and mash." 

"They had peanut butter in  _prison?"_

Killian shoots Regina a look of unbridled irritation, but Emma pays the woman's stinging tone no mind as she answers, "Juvie isn't the same as hardcore prison, and the food wasn't too bad. Plus, pregnant teens had  _some_ concessions. Not much, but some." 

"Hmmm," is all Regina says, checking her phone for Robin's text (presumably) as Henry moves about the room like a hurricane, picking his wallet from one end of the couch and his phone from a corner table and a knick knack from another shelf. 

"You know," Killian can't help but say, "if you kept all your things in one place, you'd have a much easier time of it." 

Henry turns to side-eye with an eye-roll far too reminiscent of his mothers, "We're not all ship captains."

"No, clearly not," Killian grumbles good-naturedly, "though there is hope I'll manage to instil some sort of orderliness with this little one."

"Hah, good luck with that," Regina scoffs, looking ready to leave, "I was in full Evil Queen mode and even I couldn't get Henry to pick up his socks and put them in the laundry basket. It's Emma's genes."

Emma snorts, burying her face into his knee as her shoulders shake in laughter, "Can't even deny that, though Neal was an even worse slob. Henry never stood a chance." 

"You guys are the worst, mom, I'm starving, can we get those pancakes now?"

"Yes, Robin's on his way with Roland."

As if summoned, a horn beeps from the driveway, and Henry grins, bounding over to them to place a kiss on Emma's cheek and a fist-bump with Killian, who has since grown accustomed to the odd displays of manly affection in this realm. 

"See you later, lad." 

"Bye Henry!"

"Bye Joneses."

"Bye mum, Killian." 

A flurry of activity and a door slam leaves them in sudden silence.

She is silent as she readjusts herself, leaning back against his legs with her own stretched before her, and Killian resumes brushing her hair in delicate strokes in silence. His thoughts run its course, wondering and thinking and imagining, unable to drive his niggling insecurities away as he contemplates how far his life has come, how good and loving and perfect it is, and he's got a family, a proper family...

"If you keep doing that, I'm going to fall asleep," she says after a while, voice sounding significantly groggy. 

"Then sleep, my love." 

"You wanted to learn how to tie a french braid," she reminds him. 

"Aye. And I will. But for now, rest, my darling." 

She presses a kiss to the side of his leg, turning to look up at him. 

"Killian."

"Aye?"

"You are already a great father. Whatever you think you're lacking, you'll make up in other ways, and the most important thing is that none of our children will ever feel abandoned or unloved, and that's  _the most_ important thing, okay?"

He smiles, throat suddenly tight as he nods. Trust Emma to cut straight to his heart. 

She grabs his hand, struggling to her feet as they both work to pull her up. She settles herself back into his lap, fingers carding through his hair as she contemplates her words. 

"You know I love you, right?"

"And I, you," is his immediate reply, and then, with a caress to the baby within, "and you too, little Swan."

"Little Jones, technically."

"A little of both, as she should be."

Emma yawns, tucking her head in the crook of his neck, placing a kiss there. "She feels like a damn wiggling Jones, trying to make me pee fifty million times a day."

"If we were seahorses..."

She laughs freely, flicking his ear with her finger. "Stop watching weird animal planet shows."

"It's informative," he protests, "and better than bloody Pinky and The Brain. That show is going to rot your brain, Swan." 

"It's the only cartoon I watched from when I was growing up, lay off." 

Sensing that he may be veering to dangerous territory (her emotions are notoriously volatile these days), he hums, distracting her with light kisses to the side of her head. 

"Killian," she yawns again, "lie with me for a bit?"

"Of course, my love," he says, even though he had wanted to do a bit more reading and perhaps start a journal. Some things are worth yielding for, and Emma Swan and the little Swan-Jones she carries is definitely one of those things, he thinks, as she waves her hand and transports them to their marital bed. 

And maybe, if he plays his cards right, he'll get  _her_ yielding beneath him before night falls. 

 

 


End file.
